Graduationversary
by otempora16
Summary: It's reasonable to want your favorite uncle at your graduation, isn't it? That's Wendy Boxleitner's opinion, but her parents insist a supervillain isn't an appropriate addition to the guest list. Wendy's not about to take no for an answer. But when she sets out to reunite with her Uncle Steven, she winds up getting more than she bargained for. Oneshot.


**As promised, here's the other fic that's been sitting around for a while. The line about Two Brains' niece in "Rat Trap" is obviously just meant to be a quick joke, but for me it raised a lot of questions. What's Two Brains' relationship like with Steven's family? Does he even consider them his family? Vice versa, do they consider Two Brains to be Steven, or did they cut off contact? Did they try to help him? Would Two Brains even be welcome at an event like a graduation? Obviously, I found those questions interesting enough to answer them in fic format. I'll be interested to see what you think of this fic, since it centers so heavily on what is essentially an OC - hopefully I made her interesting enough to be worth your time.**

 **Fair warning: there is one instance of mild language, because I just couldn't imagine an adult saying "heck" in that situation.**

* * *

Wendy Boxleitner's parents looked so peaceful. Her mother sat at the kitchen table, shuffling through a pile of papers; the early morning light streaming through the window highlighted her hair with gold. Mr. Boxleitner leaned over his wife's shoulder, watching her hunt for the specific list she needed and smiling as she mumbled to herself.

It was really a shame Wendy was going to have to ruin it.

Still, she took a deep breath and spoke.

"I want Uncle Steven to come to my graduation."

Her parents' reactions were so similar that Wendy might have laughed, if she weren't so determined to be serious. Their heads darted up, eyes wide in identical expressions of surprise.

"What was that?" asked Mrs. Boxleitner, apparently trying to process the fact that Wendy, a notoriously late sleeper, was up and dressed at 7:00 in the morning.

Wendy tossed her dark hair over her shoulder and leaned against the doorframe with what she hoped was an air of cool determination. "I _said_ , I want Uncle Steven to come to my graduation." She pointed to the pages on the table. "Can you add him to the guest list, please?"

She saw her father's jaw clench and felt her own do the same, anticipating the coming storm. Her mother's eyes darted between them, and she spoke up quickly to cut off her father.

"Wendy, honey," she said, then paused to gather her words. "You know that that's … not really an option …"

"Why not?" She crossed her arms and tilted her chin in the air.

"You _know_ why not, Wendy." Her father's voice was controlled, but barely. "What are you playing at?"

Wendy felt a pang of guilt at ruining her dad's good mood, but she'd been planning this for weeks and she wasn't going to back down now.

"The whole family's coming," she said, pleased with how even and calm her voice sounded. "Family friends are coming. Mom's batty old neighbors from when she was six are coming. Why can't Uncle Steven?"

"Wendy, that is _rude._ The Barnabys are lovely people." Mrs. Boxleitner's mouth tightened with displeasure, and Wendy winced. She'd anticipated resistance from her dad, but getting her mom angry wasn't in the script. There went her mouth, screwing everything up again.

Her dad was not distracted by his wife's change of topic.

"Don't play dumb, Wendy. What's gotten into you? Why on earth would you bring this up? Especially after your mother's put so much hard work into planning this party? Do you think she needs the extra stress right now?"

"Don't make me your mouthpiece," her mother chided, gentle but firm.

"I want my uncle to come to my graduation!" Wendy's composure was slipping now. "What's wrong with that? We haven't even seen him for three years –"

Her father did that _thing,_ a huge rush of spluttering air and hands thrown up wildly, conveying a mixture of incredulity, frustration, and condescension.

"There's a reason for that! I thought you might be _aware_ –"

"Don't get sarcastic, Jim, that's not going to –"

"Well, maybe I'm not!" Wendy snapped back. "How would I know? You haven't _talked_ about it, nobody has –"

"I'm leaving," her father said. He leaned down and hoisted up his briefcase, glowering. "I don't have time for this right now. Mary, have a nice day." He clapped a hand on his wife's shoulder and leaned down to give her the customary kiss, but she ducked away.

"Jim, come on, you have plenty of time, let's talk about this – Wendy, of _course_ there's nothing wrong with wanting your uncle to be there, sweetie. It's just that –"

"Really? There's nothing wrong?" The situation was spiraling rapidly out of control and Wendy could feel herself spiraling with it. "You sure wouldn't know it from the way you people act! You haven't tried to – to call, or to write, or to _see him,_ or – or –" She spluttered, trying and failing to wrest herself back to her original goal. "But hey, sorry to bring it up! Sorry to remind that you actually _have a brother_ , that I have an uncle, I forgot that we'd all just prefer –"

"Gwendolyn Boxleitner, that is _enough_!" Her mother slammed her hand on the table.

Wendy jumped. She looked at her parents, realized how far out of control this had gotten, tried frantically to think of a way to lighten the mood.

"Oh no," she gasped, sagging against the doorframe with her hand pressed to her forehead. "The full name! It's – it's _too strong,_ I'm _meltiiiing_ …"

She slid a little way down the doorframe, then glanced up at her parents from under her hand. They were both still glowering at her. She pushed herself back up, embarrassed by her lame attempt to make them laugh, frustrated at herself for starting the whole thing in the first place, but not repentant enough to pass up the chance for one final shot.

"I just … want the whole family to be there," she said, hoping they might find that explanation acceptable. She tried for casualness in her tone but wound up with something closer to plaintiveness. "I just –" She bit her tongue, trying to find better words. They wouldn't come.

"I'm going to go pack my bag," she said. "Have a nice day at work, Dad."

* * *

Wendy grimaced as the comb hit a snarl in her damp hair. She yanked on it with one hand as she turned on her lamp and pulled down her blinds, insulating herself in the bright little cocoon of her room. She finally felt relaxed. The house was quiet when she came in. Just the sounds of her mother's pen scratching on the bills and her father's snoring accompanied her as she headed upstairs and hopped in the shower. But the quiet felt fragile, its edges prickly. She was glad that her dad was asleep. She knew she needed to apologize to him, but the thought still made her face heat and her throat close up, a sure sign that she wasn't ready to broach the topic without blowing up again.

A gentle knock sounded at her door. Wendy's stomach lurched. She dropped the comb on her dresser and opened the door.

Her mother stood in the doorway, and she wasn't holding any stacks of freshly-folded laundry to hand off to her. That meant it was time for a Talk.

"Hey," Wendy said.

"Hi. How did rehearsal go?"

"It was a nightmare. Eric spilled soda on the projector and Mark fell off the set and dragged all the drapes with him."

"Ouch. I assume he's all right?"

"He's fine. He has a hard head."

Her mom smiled, the corners of her mouth folding easily into her laugh lines. "Well, dress rehearsals are supposed to go badly, right?" She reached out to brush a strand of Wendy's hair behind her ear.

"Yeah. It'd be kind of freaky if nothing bad happened, actually."

Her mom patted the side of Wendy's face lightly, then withdrew her hand.

"Honey, it's _okay_ to want your Uncle Steven to be at your graduation." Wendy crossed her arms over her stomach and tried to avoid her gaze, but her mom's firm voice drew her eyes back to hers. "But I also know that you understand why that's not going to happen."

"Yeah," Wendy said. "I know."

The question hung in the air, delicately suggested by her mother's words – _If you know, why would you bring it up? Why the scene?_

Wendy wished she had an answer. She wished she could say why the idea had lodged itself in her head, why she thought it would be smart to barge in on her parents and drop that particular bombshell and then act like she was surprised when it exploded.

Maybe an exploding bombshell was better than tiptoeing around a field of landmines.

"I know it hasn't been easy on you," her mom said. "It's been a scary thing for all of us, especially Dad." She caught Wendy's look of surprise and her eyes crinkled in understanding. "You know how Daddy is, but he feels it too."

Of course Wendy hadn't thought that her dad _wasn't_ upset, but – it was just hard to imagine her stoic, businesslike father missing his little brother. _He_ made _it hard to imagine,_ she thought petulantly to herself, and immediately felt guilty for it. Her dad didn't owe her some big display of grief.

 _Is grief even the right word?_

"It just … seems … weird that we haven't tried to – to contact him, or maybe contact someone about him …"

"We did try, hon. But it's hard to help someone who doesn't seem to want to be helped. And after a certain point, we had to think about the safety of the family, too."

Wendy's stomach twisted. "I know," she said quietly.

Her mom pulled her in for a hug, and Wendy breathed in the comforting vanilla scent of her perfume.

"It's okay to be sad about it, Wendy," she said. "Especially now. But try to be happy, too, okay?" Her mom pulled away and smiled at her. "You're finishing up a great four years. You're going to give an amazing performance on Friday in an amazing show. And you have a great school to look forward to. Try to focus on the stuff you have, not just the stuff you've lost, okay?"

Wendy smiled, just a little. "Okay."

Her mom kissed her forehead. "I'm proud of you, Wendy Boxleitner."

"Lynna, remember?"

Her mom gave her head a playful shove. "We'll see about that. Sleep tight."

Wendy closed the door behind her and stood there for a moment, turning over the conversation in her head. She absentmindedly picked up her comb and began to run it through her hair again. The momentary relief of her mom's reassurance had faded, and her stomach still felt tight and twisted.

 _He wouldn't really be a danger to us … right?_

She didn't want to believe it was true. It made her feel sick just to think about her soft-spoken uncle hurting _anyone_ , much less his own family.

Wendy could still remember the day of the accident. She'd been diving in the front door, full of bluster and excitement about her part in the spring play, only to find her father speaking frantically into the house phone while her mother was dialing a number into her cell.

"I'll try the university," she was saying, "Someone at the lab must have a better idea of what happened …"

Her father had just started speaking more loudly into the phone: "Well, if _you_ don't know what's going on, put me on with someone who _does_ – 'still at the police station'? Why the hell isn't he in the hospital?"

And that was how Wendy had learned that her Uncle Steven had had an _accident._

The rest of that day, and most of the days after, were hazy and blurred in her memory. The Boxleitners had quickly realized that _no one_ seemed to know what had happened – not the police, not the hospital, not the university. Her father had taken off for Fair City, only to return empty-handed late the next day, snarling about the incompetence of the city's police department. Her grandparents had flown in from out of state and been stuck wringing their hands at the house as the family tried, over and over again and without success, to get in contact with Steven or with anybody who could explain to them just what was going on.

The one thing Wendy remembered with absolute clarity was when her mom had finally dropped her cell phone in frustration and flicked on the TV instead. Wendy had been confused until her mom changed the station to the evening news, and there was her uncle's face plastered behind the newscaster's – her uncle's face, but certainly not her uncle. She had watched, stunned, as the newscaster explained about the new supervillain who had held Fair City hostage until he was captured by Wordgirl. It was surreal, something out of a bad dream. She stumbled through that day and the days after with a vague feeling that, when she woke up the next morning, everything would have sorted itself out. Things like that didn't just happen. Not to her. Not to her polite, quiet Uncle Steven.

Steven had always seemed more like a big brother to her than an uncle. A good twenty years separated him from her father, so he was only nine years her senior. He studied and later worked right in Fair City, only an hour's drive away, and so he came frequently to their house for family dinners. There would always be the initial cooing and attention from great-aunts and distant cousins, proud of their genius relative, eager to know what it was like to finish grad school at sixteen, achieve a doctorate by twenty, and later to become the youngest-ever professor at Fair City University. But eventually their interest would turn to other family gossip, and he and Wendy would be left to themselves while the grown-ups chattered away.

They always sat next to each other at the big dinners. While her eyes were nearly rolling back in her head from boredom with the adult babble about taxes and elections, he would scribble messages onto napkins with a smuggled pen, making simple codes for her to decipher and beaming when she solved them. Later, when everyone had moved to the living room for coffee, they would gather all the glasses together and he would show her how to swipe her fingers along the rim and make them sing. He would inevitably become engrossed in it, sipping and pouring water to find different pitches and trying to piece together melodies. At last she would drag him away, her little-kid attention span quickly exhausted, and he would obligingly find another way to entertain her.

When they were both older, and he'd finally qualified for a driver's license, he came to visit more frequently. He helped her with her math homework. His explanations of simple fractions tended to veer wildly into excited discussions of quantum physics, but then, she supposed, her rapid babbling about school and dance class and Girl Scouts must have been every bit as foreign to him. And when she joined her school's drama club in fourth grade, he came to every show.

Wendy realized that she was sitting on the edge of her bed, running her thumb over the teeth of the comb over and over again, staring at nothing. She raised the comb to her head, but her hand just drifted down again. Her mouth tightened.

 _Focus on what you have, not what you've lost,_ her mom said, but since when had she lost her uncle? He was still there, in Fair City, barely an hour away, and she hadn't spoken to him in three years. _He's different now,_ everyone said, _he's not the same person anymore_ – but how did _they_ know? No one in her family had seen him or spoken to him since the accident.

Her fingers were pressing hard into the comb. She pried them off and looked at the angry red indents in her skin.

She knew she should listen to her mother, she should learn from her mistake, she should forget about all of this. But she'd been trying to _forget about this_ for three years, and it wasn't working.

Wendy began to yank the comb through her hair again. A plan was already forming in her mind.

* * *

The highway was quiet this early in on a Saturday; bathed in the sleepy purple light of dawn, even the sounds of the cars rushing by seemed muted. It had been that way for long enough that Wendy's hands had begun to ease off their death grip on the steering wheel. She'd driven on highways before, but never without her parents. Her galloping heartbeat was making her regret the caramel macchiato she'd ordered from the drive-through on her way out of town.

This stretch of highway was straight and clear, and she gingerly edged one hand off the wheel to touch the sticky mess of her hair. After last night's performance, she'd been too exhausted to do anything but tumble into bed, promising herself a quick shower in the morning. But her dad was a light sleeper and an early riser, and she'd been too afraid of waking him to do more than get dressed in the dark and slip out of the house. When she got back she'd have to feed her parents some story about an early cast breakfast, but her nerves hadn't been up to lying to her dad's face that morning. She'd thrown her hair into a ponytail to disguise its disarray, but the sickly sweet smell of hairspray still hung around her. For that matter – she quickly flipped the sun visor down to take advantage of the mirror on the other side – in spite of her quick scrub last night, the remnants of stage makeup still clung to her eyes.

 _Great,_ she thought. _I'll look like a rabid raccoon._

A pickup truck roared by on her left and Wendy seized the wheel again, her nerves jangling in time with her rapid heartbeat. For the rest of the trip, she kept her eyes and her mind on the road, banishing all thought of the little envelope sitting on the passenger seat next to her, and what she'd do with it when she arrived.

At last she eased off of the highway and into Fair City. She squinted at the street signs, trying to remember her way around from trips she'd taken with her parents. It hadn't been difficult to find her uncle's address. Lots of newspaper articles mentioned it. Whenever she saw Steven mentioned in the news, she usually shoved the paper away or switched off the TV, trying to ignore it. But then she would usually creep back and absorb the story in quick glances, because so far knowing was better than leaving it up to her imagination.

She found the old warehouse faster than she would have liked. She recognized it instantly, from those same news reports. She left the car idling for a while before she turned off the gas, staring at the garage door. Her heart was hammering again and her limbs felt shaky. A thousand possibilities for the coming moments ran through her head. What would he say when he saw her? What would _she_ say to _him_? Would he even want to see her?

She opened the car door and stood shakily on the pavement, the envelope in her hands. She'd taken the first step and now she felt exposed on the street, so she shut and locked the doors, crossed the street, and rang the doorbell.

She clutched the envelope so tightly between her thumbs and forefingers that she imagined them phasing right through the paper. She reached up again to touch her hair, wishing she'd stopped to check her appearance in the mirror. She glanced down. Did her outfit even match? She'd gotten dressed in the dark. She wasn't sure.

The garage door opened. Her stomach swooped.

After it had finally crawled up high enough for her to see what lay beyond, it took her beleaguered brain a moment to realize that she wasn't looking at her uncle. Instead, two men greeted her, one tall, one short, both wearing ugly green jumpsuits.

She recognized them from the news reports. These were his assistants.

She swallowed and took a shaky breath.

"Hi," she said. "I'm Wendy Boxleitner. I'm looking for my uncle? Steven Boxleitner? … Doctor Two Brains?"

At this last reluctant addition, the confusion on the faces of the two men cleared.

"Oh," said the shorter one, the one with the red hat. His expression was bright. "I didn't know the boss had a niece!" The tall one nodded his agreement, then smiled pleasantly at her.

"Yeah," said Wendy, feeling like she'd lost some of the air in her lungs. "I guess he doesn't talk about me."

They both shrugged, a polite _I suppose not._

"Well," she said, "I um, have something for him? If he could … ?"

"He's not in right now," said Red Hat. "He's still in jail. But he's out in a couple days," he added.

"Oh. Um, I won't be able to be back," Wendy said. "I still have school … But, here, could you maybe give this to him?" She held out the envelope. "It's an invitation. To my graduation. Next weekend. I'd like to have him there."

Red Hat beamed as he accepted the envelope. "Congratulations!" he said.

"Thanks." Wendy's stomach felt like a knot of worms, twisting and coiling around each other. It wasn't supposed to go like this. "So, yeah, if you could just give that to him … Again, my name's Wendy Boxleitner, I'm his – I mean Lynna, Lynna Boxleitner –" Had she said Lynna before, or Wendy? Had she even introduced herself? Now they were looking at her with open confusion.

"I mean, I've always gone by Wendy," she explained desperately, "but my full name's Gwendolyn, and when I get to college I want to switch to going by Lynna, so I'm trying to start … but I guess my uncle wouldn't know that name, so, um, just tell him Wendy …"

"Lynna's a very pretty name," said Red Hat.

"Thanks," she said, all the power gone from her voice. Her throat felt thick and her face flushed. "I'll go now. Thanks again."

She turned and headed back across the street, her arms and legs as jerky and awkward as a marionette's. She was sure she could feel the two men staring at her all the way across, probably wondering about what asylum she'd escaped from, but when she reached her car and turned around, the garage door was closed.

* * *

"Oh, Wendy, just put the hat on!"

" _No,"_ Wendy said, pushing the stupid mortarboard cap further into the folds of her graduation gown. "I look like a doofus."

" _Wendy_ –"

"Don't make the poor kid wear the hat," said her dad good-naturedly. "Just take the picture, Mary."

Her mother sighed in defeat. "All right, squeeze together, you two, I want to get some of the stage in the picture too."

Mr. Boxleitner wrapped his arm around Wendy's shoulders. She leaned into him, held up her diploma, and gave the camera her most dazzling Broadway smile.

After the flash, her dad pulled her in for a hug. "Congratulations, sweetheart," he said.

"Thanks," she said, hugging him tightly back. As she pulled away, she gave him a sly grin. "So, Pops, how's it feel to be the father of a full-fledged member of adult society?" She fluttered her eyelashes and fanned herself with her program, a parody of self-importance.

"Heaven help us," Mr. Boxleitner said, rolling his eyes. He slung an arm around her shoulders. Wendy reached for her mom, who joined her on the other side, and together they walked out of the auditorium.

But as they left, Wendy couldn't help craning her neck back over her shoulder, as if her uncle was going to magically appear behind her, some kind of cheesy Hollywood ending revealing that he'd been there all along. But she didn't see him there, nor in the lobby of the school building where the graduating class and their families milled around, babbling tearfully to each other.

Wendy felt her disappointment like an anvil in her chest, dragging down her good spirits. But as she headed for a group of her friends, she made herself take a deep breath. _Sometimes it just doesn't work,_ she reminded herself. _That's okay. That's okay._

And it was hard to stay focused on one disappointment as she passed easily from friend to friend, exchanging congratulations, summer plans, and expressions of disbelief that their high school career was really over. Many hugs and photos later, she made her way out the doors to the front lawn, scanning the crowd to find a few classmates she'd missed inside.

She stopped short on the steps as her gaze lighted on a puke-green van with a familiar orange-and-black insignia on it, parked on the very edge of the block.

She stared at it stupidly for a moment. Then she glanced around quickly, wondering if anyone else had noticed the infamous vehicle. She headed down the stairs and pushed her way through the crowd, trying to dodge teachers and students she knew, craning over people's heads to make sure the van wasn't some kind of hallucination. As she drew closer, she saw a white-coated figure lingering awkwardly at its side. Then she was there, and she and her uncle were looking at each other for the first time in three years.

"Hi," she said.

Her eyes gravitated automatically towards the white hair and the _brain,_ that awful brain – her gut lurched and she glanced quickly away from it, feeling suddenly dizzy.

"Hi," he said back. "Uh, congratulations."

She tried to look at his eyes instead. But they were red, red and wrong, and his voice was wrong too, and instead she stared down at her hands, and she regretted this so, so much.

She felt him looking at her, too, in the awkward silence. She wondered if he even recognized her. The last time they'd seen each other she'd been a kid with glasses and braces and too much lip gloss. Wendy took a shaky breath. Her uncle was here now, she told herself, and she had to deal with it.

"So, you came," she said.

"Yeah," he said. "Well, we didn't make the ceremony. The henchmen took too long picking out their outfits, and you know how the traffic is. We saw the last few minutes. Sorry about that."

"It's okay," Wendy mumbled.

"I mean, maybe it's for the best," he said, with a forced jollity in his tone. "I suspect I might not exactly be welcomed by, uh, select members of the guest list."

At his pointed tone, Wendy looked up and followed his gaze to where her parents were talking with her English teacher across the front lawn of the school. Her dad wrapped an arm around her mom and said something that made both her and Mrs. McDougall laugh. She looked back at her uncle, who had a stupid little smirk on his face like he'd just said something very funny.

"It wouldn't exactly be their fault _,_ " she said. "I mean, how would they know you weren't going to – to turn the school into cheese, or – or something like that?"

He held up his hands in mock defense. "Well, admittedly I do –"

"I mean," Wendy said more loudly, "It's not like you've ever _called,_ or _visited,_ or so much as _written a letter_ – how were we supposed to know if you were going to do something crazy, or if you even _wanted_ to come, or if you even remembered who we _are?_ How were we supposed to _know?_ "

His defensive position wasn't so joking now. "All right, fair enough, easy –"

"You just had this accident three years ago and then we never saw you again! What's that supposed to mean? Do you know what that was like for us? For Dad? For Grandma and Grandpa?"

"Look, kid," he snapped, "It hasn't exactly been a walk in the park on this end, either. Let's ease up on the accusations –"

"No, you don't get to tell me to ease up on _anything._ You gave up that right when you dropped out of my life, you don't –"

"All right," he said. He put one hand on the door handle of the van. "I get it. I'm leaving."

"Fine," Wendy said. She didn't know if it was fine. She wanted to keep yelling. But she also wanted to run back to her parents and forget this ever happened.

"Where are those henchmen?" Two Brains was mumbling under his breath, scanning the milling crowds of people, obviously antsy to be gone. Wendy clenched her already-crumpled program tightly and gritted her teeth. She wanted to turn her back on him and go but for some reason she was rooted to the spot.

Shrieks of alarm – and then laughter – shot through the crowd. Wendy, already tense, jumped about a mile. She looked around for the source of the commotion and saw that Mrs. Garcia's snack table had vanished underneath a cupcake larger than a minivan.

"Oh, for Pete's sake," said Two Brains under his breath. "I _told_ them not to bring it…"

"Bring _what_?" asked Wendy, alarmed.

"The growth ray," he said. "'It's a graduation,' I said, 'what on earth would you need _that_ for,' but _nooo,_ they had to have it, 'just in case,' and look, now everyone's eating it up – literally – and I'm never going to hear the end of it…"

Sure enough, delighted students and parents were already flocking to grab handfuls of the enormous sweet. The taller henchman was twirling a colorful gun proudly as his partner accepted praise from the onlookers.

"Hmm," said Two Brains, staring intently at the crowd. "That thing's been acting up lately, I sure hope that's okay to eat…" He tapped his chin thoughtfully as he spoke. The gesture was achingly familiar, and Wendy's heart clenched. She realized suddenly that, however angry she was, she couldn't bear the thought of him leaving. Not like this.

Not again.

She cleared her throat.

"So, uh … I met those two when I dropped off the invitation. They seemed nice."

Two Brains snorted. "Yeah, there's one word for it." He was still distracted. Wendy took a breath and tried again.

"What're their names?"

"No idea."

"What? What do you mean, 'no idea'?"

"I dunno, one of them's … uh … Chuck? No, that's the sandwich guy. And the other one … hmm … I don't know, they both answer to 'hey you' just fine."

"You hired these guys and you don't even know their names?"

"I was a little distracted at the time, all right, it was all kind of blurry. And since then I've been busy." He looked at her, briefly, and then his glance slid down to the ground. "Obviously."

"Yeah," Wendy said. She swallowed. "Look, are you … okay?"

He shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged. "'Okay,' sure. Yeah. I mean … not bad. There're ups and downs. But … yeah. Okay. I guess."

Wendy nodded. "That's … good to know."

"Yeah. I guess I should've … yeah."

Wendy nodded again and released the breath she'd been holding. The ground beneath her feet felt stable for the first time since she'd seen the van. Fragile, but stable.

Two Brains looked up. "Hey, what school are you going to? I mean – you might've mentioned that to the henchmen, sorry, I just – sometimes the details get a little … crowded out." He gestured vaguely to his head.

"Claypoole College, upstate. Yeah, no, I didn't mention it."

"Hey," he said, perking up, "That's a good school! You know what you want to study?"

"Not a clue," she said, laughing a little.

"That's fine. I'm sure you'll figure it out."

"Well, that's the plan," she said with a little smile.

Two Brains nodded. "Congratulations," he said, with sincerity. "That's really great. Claypoole, and graduating, and everything."

"Thanks," said Wendy.

It wasn't an apology. But it was a start.

"Well," Two Brains said, his attention wandering back over to the enormous cupcake, "guess I'd better grab the boys …"

"Yeah," said Wendy. "No, hey, wait." She began patting for her pockets before remembering she was wearing her stupid graduation gown. "Do you have a pen?"

"Uh, I think so." He rummaged in his lab coat and pulled one out. "Here."

She grabbed it and began scribbling on the back of her program.

"Here," she said when she'd finished. "This is my address at school. You are going to write to me when I get there." She raised her eyebrows meaningfully, making the command clear, and made herself meet those red eyes.

"Fair enough," he said, taking the paper.

"I mean it."

He gave a little smile and a brief nod. "Understood." He looked down at the address, and his eyebrows – still dark, she realized with a jolt, still Uncle Steven's – furrowed.

"'Lynna Boxleitner'?" he said. "Who is _that_?"

"That," Wendy said, squaring her shoulders, "is me. I'm going to be Lynna once I get to college. A real-person name. No more ' _Off to Neverland, Peter_!'" She gave this last bit her best English accent.

"You're changing your name?" he asked incredulously.

"You're one to talk!" she exclaimed. She cringed a bit once the words left her mouth, but Two Brains glanced back at the program thoughtfully.

"Hmm," he said. "Why not Gwendolyn?"

" _Gwendolyn?_ " she repeated, enunciating each syllable in the most grating way possible. "Seriously?"

"Hey, any ditz can be a Lynna," he said. "Pulling off Gwendolyn takes style. Which is something _you_ are certainly not lacking."

"Hm," she said, letting the name weigh in her mind. "… I'll think about it."

"Well." He folded the program and tucked it carefully in a pocket of his lab coat. "I'll go grab those henchmen."

"Right."

With that, he started wading his way through the crowd, and Wendy felt a sudden sense of panic. Surely there had to be something more? Her grandparents were here. Shouldn't she make sure they saw their son? That they knew he was okay?

She twisted her graduation cap in her hands as she watched him disappear into the group. Then she took a breath. _Not now,_ she thought. _Not today. Baby steps, Wendy._

 _Lynna._

 _Gwendolyn?_

She turned resolutely, scanning the crowd for her parents. When she found them, standing in front of the steps to the school, they were already looking at her. At the van. At everything.

Wendy looked back.

Her father nodded once, stiffly. She gave a little shrug in response, and a little smile. She wasn't sure if he could see her expression, but she thought he'd probably get it anyway.

She headed back into the crowd to find her friends.

* * *

The dorm room's door swung open. A tall girl with a nervous smile elbowed her way in, navigating awkwardly with her armful of boxes until she managed to dump them on the empty bed.

"Hi," she said, brushing her hair back out of her face and extending her hand. "I'm Charlotte Chen. It's nice to meet you!"

Her new roommate smiled and offered her hand in return. "Nice to meet you too," she said. "I'm Gwen."


End file.
